Diplomacy
by Preda
Summary: "Somewhere south of Umbar, by the sea, there once lay a city." A short story from The Second Age.


"Guards! _Guards_," the Prince cried.

The doors slammed shut. The bars fell to reinforce them. The blinds fell upon the windows, and the room was dark.

In that darkness Sauron could see his target. The Prince was swinging his head, looking for him. He thought his end had come. He grabbed his knife.

The Dark Lord began to smile before he realized his prey's intent. The dagger shimmered with the faint light still slithering into the room, and Sauron could see it nearing the young man's throat. At this he smiled no longer.

The candle fixtures sprung to life, and again the Prince could see.

"_Abomination_," he said, almost calmly, bringing his weapon closer to his throat as Sauron took his first step, hands raised in an attempt to appease. "I know why you've come. _Step away!_"

The Maia didn't, and now blade was resting against neck. Breaking skin. He could smell a sliver of blood.

He took a step back, and then another. His eyes shimmered with anger at this man from across the lavishly decorated room. How dare this southern wretch presume to order him so? He opened his mouth-

"Don't speak," the prince commanded, his bloodied blade not moving from his own neck. "I will not be witched by you!" His voice was trembling. Fear, and conviction barely enough to overpower it. He pointed his short finger at Sauron's hand. "Your Ring of Power... Remove it! Place it on the table there!"

Sauron thought to smile again, though he didn't. This Prince... This mortal fool hoped to parley with Him. What did he hope to accomplish, he wondered as he looked at his own hand. It was clad with many rings. A steel one, older than this prince and his country, and his very Race. One silver, marking him as advisor-prisoner of the King of Nümenor; most at the court thought him confined in his chamber right now, resting easy that their captive was contained even as he slid through the very walls and gates that were meant to hold him.

And one more ring. One Above All. Gold. Precious beyond all else. He raised his small hand to remove it... And felt it trembling. That was new. This fana had never done that before. As he pulled the band off his long finger, the gesture seemed to stretch on and on. That did not surprise him.

When it was done, he extended his hand, with the One resting heavily in his delicate palm. _Do you want this?_ he almost asked. But again, the Prince spoke first.

"_Keep it away from me!_" His blade did not budge. "On the table. Then we speak!"

Sauron obliged, and with a leadlike thud the One fell upon the wooden table. He felt himself change: his eyes sunk and darknened. His hair fell, its shimmering gold turning red, no longer shining. He felt his head grow heavy, and fought the urge to slouch and sigh. He hid his hands as he saw them grow old and battered.

"Dark Lord..." the Prince called, "you look weary."

Sauron smiled, and he felt that he must look quite tired doing that as well. "You would too, at my age." He raised his head, approaching the Prince, who he knew would no longer feel as threatened, though his blade remained against his own neck.

"The Host is coming," he said.

"I know. This is why you're here," the boy said. "You would keep them from us? You would save us?"

"I would." His voice was rough now, almost like an old man's. The silver in his tongue was gone.

"At what price? What would you have us sacrifice?"

"Nothing." He smiled again. "I would make you great. The pillaging hordes of sea-men will turn back. I will convince their king to leave you in peace forever."

The Prince gasped at this. The ships had been seen in the distance for days now. He'd been expecting them for months.

"The other kingdoms will see this. They will know that you are protected from them. They will rally beneath your banner, tribes and cities and kingdoms, in fear of them. Ultimately... All of Harad will rally in faith of you. You will be King."

"And I would serve the Black Land. I would serve darkness, as would all who follow me."

"You would _help_ me. The Giver of Light. The Lord of the World. We would be friends, and your _people…_ would be safe."

The Prince closed his eyes. His blade lowered and his shoulders fell. With shaking hands he pressed the knife against his palm, and closed his fist.


End file.
